If I could I would
piece together the shattered glass of this half empty cup:
like Superman I'd fly fast as infinity
reverse the earth's rotation
change the course of history
breathe a cone of cold on any who stand in my way.
A slow motion shot of fragments levitating off kitchen floor,
gasps of shock turning back to smiles or frowns
my slippery grip sliding back into a firm handshake.
Sticky liquid slops its way back up the side of my cupboard,
and as when Einstein turned gravity upside down,
it meets the cup a moment before implosion
and just after the moment when my hand slipped.
At this moment I realize that counter tops have mass and strength:
as Atlas holding up the earth, as Hercules sweeping shit out of the stables.